Ten Years
by St. Harridan
Summary: It's been ten years since Zaraki's alleged "death", and just when Ukitake's starting to come to terms with reality, he's faced once more with the man who had stolen his heart all those years ago. But some things can never change.


**Supposed to be drabble-length, but ended up with..._this._**

**A little AU-ish with Kenpachi's alleged disappearance after his fight with Nnoitra.**

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><p><span>Ten Years<span>

The light of dawn that creeps in through the curtains finds Jushiro sitting behind his desk, mulling over documents that seem to never finish despite how much he works on them. He has been there since the night before, locked away without much care for the outside world.

Jushiro isn't one for being such a hermit – he's rather the outgoing type, really – but these past ten years have changed him. They have morphed him into someone he has never imagined being, someone who doesn't pay attention to his surroundings and lives only for the sake of living.

Friends have been asking after him, but he's more often than not hidden away in his office or the Ugendo, either working or sleeping off a sudden attack from his very much unpredictable illness.

He even stops seeing Shunsui for drinks. The only person ever to catch more than a glimpse of him, the only one who has the time to really stare at and examine him, is Retsu. Being his personal doctor, she has the advantage of checking up on him, and many have gone to her for information regarding Jushiro.

Retsu tells them, but she doesn't tell them everything. She doesn't tell them about the time when she saw tears in his eyes, saw the pain he's going through. He tries hard to hide it, but, after centuries of being friends, she knows how to read him almost as well as Shunsui.

Jushiro doesn't want to do this to them. He doesn't like it when they worry about him. He wants them to be happy, not waste their time with concern for him, but he just can't bring himself to show his face around the Seireitei. He's suffered too much humiliation, too much anger and sorrow for one lifetime, and he's only waiting for the day when his life would just end, and he could be reborn to lead another path.

But then, as he holds his head in his hands, trying to push every image of that man who has caused him all this suffering, he hears heavy, rushed footsteps down the hall. There's hardly a knock on the door before it bursts open, and Sentaro and Kiyone come hurtling themselves into the room.

Jushiro looks up, and they swallow at the sight of their captain.

"What's…what's wrong?"

"C-captain, we just heard word that he's back!" Kiyone blurts out through her panting. "Captain Unohana told us, and she's now rushing over to heal him at the Fourth Division. I heard that he's badly wounded and-"

But she can't finish her sentence before her captain rushes pass them and out the door.

Through the Seireitei he runs. He shouldn't be running – Retsu keeps telling him not to exert his body unnecessarily – but he just can't stop himself. Jushiro wants to see him, so badly that when he starts coughing, starts feeling his throat tear up with pain, he endures and continues his sprint until he reaches the Fourth Division.

There, in the lobby, he is confronted with a sight that sends a warm sense of relief surging through him, along with a sharp stab of anger. He can only stand, frozen to the spot, wide eyes staring as the man turns around upon a greeting from the pink bob that's hanging onto his shoulder.

Their eyes lock.

He lets a grin slowly grace his bloody features, and Jushiro starts running, tripping over himself once, and flings his arms around his neck. He feels the man's limbs, hard and strong, wrap themselves around him, pulling him closer. He feels that familiar warmth, that sense of comfort that he has so longed for, surround him, and for once in years, he feels hope.

He buries his face in his shoulder as Kenpachi lets out a soft chuckle, murmuring to the child to go harass the nurses and tell them to mind their own business. Jushiro, on the other hand, doesn't find his return as amusing as he does, and he squeezes his eyes shut to avoid those tears from spilling over the edges.

"You…you fool!" he manages to say through the thumping of his heart in his ears. "I _told_ you not to…take fighting so lightly. Everyone thought you were dead – _I _thought you were dead!"

"But I ain't, right?" he replies in all his laidback nature with a calm tone that makes Jushiro want to slap some sense into him.

"That's not the _point_, Zaraki!"

Kenpachi barks out a laugh, casting a glare at those who dare to stop and wonder what the problem is. It really is quite a sight though – Captain Ukitake, the sick old hermit who locks himself away in his sanctuaries for the past years, and Captain Zaraki, the man who everyone thought has fallen at the hands of the Espada.

"It's not funny, you…you _idiot_!" Jushiro feels every living urge to kill him right then and there with his own bare hands, torturing the man for what he has put him through, but he finds that he's only capable of standing there, limp in his embrace.

"Damn you…" Jushiro whispers, shaking his head to rid himself of those tears that have now begun to fall. "I…I hate you. I hate you and your sickening habits. I hate it when you go into battle with that disgusting smile of yours. I…I hate your damned guts!"

With a scoff, Kenpachi rests a tentative hand on Jushiro's head, and though Jushiro has every mind to just slap it away, he can't make his own limbs move save for holding onto him like his own life depends on it. He hates it, hates how weak he seems to be, but being confronted by one's allegedly dead partner isn't what he deals with on a daily basis.

"Huh…" Kenpachi looks at his hands absently-mindedly, at the blood they're covered in, and how he has smeared it all over Jushiro's pristine white haori. "Look, now ye're all dirty."

"I missed you," he whispers, so quietly that Kenpachi's the only one who can hear it, as his fingernails dig deep into Kenpachi's flesh. "I shouldn't have, but I did. I missed you. I didn't want to…but you made me. And I hate you for doing this to me, you big oaf."

Kenpachi laughs out loud. Everyone who isn't already staring turns to face them, to see what it is that's so funny regarding a sick, upset old man and a banged up, bloodied battle fanatic.

But they don't even take notice of those eyes upon them, and even if Kenpachi wants to shoot a glare at those who'd rather pry into others' business than mind their own, he's too preoccupied with the man in his arms – too amused, yet touched at the same time. He tightens his hold around Jushiro, nuzzling his hair and inhaling that sweet scent he himself missed during those cold, dark nights out in the desert.

"It's only been ten fuckin' years, Ukitake. It ain't that long."

Ten years, to a shinigami who has lived hundreds, is nothing. Ten years only resemble a tiny bit of a shinigami's life, even to the point where they go unnoticed.

But to Jushiro, ten years without him is hell.

He buries his face in Kenpachi's neck, catching a whiff of grass and dirt, sweat and blood, as well as his own natural odour hidden beneath that he remembers from nights being wrapped up in his clothes.

"Ten years…" he murmurs, squeezing his eyes shut, "ten years…is just too _long_."

And, as Kenpachi brushes the man's hair out of his eyes, he can't help but think so too. He takes his chin in a firm grip, lifts his face up, and claims those lips he once used to ravish. Jushiro responds with equal vigour, rejoicing in each familiar jolt of electricity that runs through him, and he brings him closer, as close as they can get.

A sharp pain shoots through him. He lets slip a soft moan, feeling the warm blood oozing out from his bottom lip being licked away, feeling the other man's smirk against his mouth, and just when he's about to lean in further, like a pleading child, for more, Kenpachi abruptly pulls away.

"What-"

Kenpachi tips his head back, stares at him, and Jushiro freezes as the man scrutinizes him. A frown forms on Kenpachi's expression, a deep one that speaks silently of disapproval and disappointment.

"Ye look like shit, Ukitake," he growls, turning his face to the right and to the left, examining him from every angle. "Seems like I ain't the one who's s'pposed t'be in the goddamned hospital."

"I have you to blame for it." Jushiro sighs, rests his head on Kenpachi's shoulder, closing his eyes.

"Hey, now," Kenpachi brushes his knuckles against Jushiro's cheek and wipes the bloodstains he leaves away with a fingertip, "this ain't so bad, innit? I should leave on some pain in the ass mission'n disappear for a while sometime so when I come back, I'll have ye to welcome me home."

Jushiro quirks an eyebrow, frowning.

"Are you saying that I don't usually welcome you home?"

"Nah, but not like _this_." Kenpachi gives his backside an affection pat, flashing that maniacal grin of his that ultimately squeezes a chuckle out of Jushiro. A rebellious tear leaves him, and Kenpachi wipes it away with a thumb. A bloody smear is left in his wake, but just as he proceeds to clean it, Jushiro takes his hand and holds it tightly in his own, a tired smile on his face.

"Ye're one ass of a worrier, Ukitake," he murmurs, brushing a finger over Jushiro's cheek.

"That's your fault." Jushiro reaches up and traces the long scar that is stretched down the left side of his face, and upon reaching his jaw line, redirects and runs his fingers over Kenpachi's chapped lips, those lips capable of sending shivers up his spine with just the slightest touch.

Everything he used to be is still there, still intact. Those rugged charms that Jushiro had fallen for are ever present, made even more definite with the presence of new wounds, scars and blood.

As he finally feels the burden being lifted off of his shoulders, as he feels Kenpachi's arms hold him closely, tightly, to his chest, with the silent will of steel to never let go, Jushiro can't help but fall for the man all over again.

After ten years, Kenpachi still hasn't changed.

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><p><strong>A review would be nice. :)<strong>


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